


Night of the 7th

by AvecPardon



Series: Parlourverse Mainline (Reborniverse Rewrite) [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: AU, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Mike is kind of a jerk, but he means well, fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction (blog), let her have a friend, official rewrite of reborniverse, parlourverse, reborniverse, the 5th child is doing her best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvecPardon/pseuds/AvecPardon
Summary: When a child is left after dark in Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, Mike has to survive the night and keep them safe from Freddy and the gang. But with the addition of a frightened little kid, the rules Mike and Freddy ‘play’ by have changed and it may be more than what the security guard can handle….





	1. 11:50 AM

_The thing to remember about Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was the rules laid down by the Boss were absolute. Ya broke ‘em, ya went broke. Simple as that. But at the same time, if ya knew the rules, then there’s a chance to find some wiggle room. And sometimes that wiggle room is all that stands between you seein’ 6 AM on the clock and you seein’ the inside of a Freddy Fazfuck suit seconds before your eyes popped out._

_–Mike_

 

—————-

 

**11:45 PM**

 

He never got paid for showing up fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Mike Schmidt never expected to be, not after the first couple of weeks of stupidly high hopes. But he did it anyway; fifteen minutes free a night was a small sacrifice to make sure nothing else was in the pizza place to fuck with his head. Freddy and his gang didn’t need the help and he already wasn’t paid enough to deal with their shit. The tablet connected to the closed camera system was propped up in its charge station - _'Ha! Fucking likely story! Damn thing’s still somehow connected to the battery powering the place overnight.’_ \- in the cramped security office. Grabbing it and checking to be sure his watch was synched to the pizzeria clock, Mike tugged the brim of his cap to fit it more closely to his head, then began his quick run through the place. It was routine, even down to the skin crawling sensation on his back, right between his shoulder blades. Mike shrugged it off; the rules said his shift didn’t officially start until midnight, when the main power cut off to save money and the battery switched on for six hours… or until Mike drained it in a panic, whichever came first. Until then he was (relatively) safe to check the cameras on the go as much as he liked, or -little trick he learned after realizing the Boss wasn’t gonna spring for a cheap flashlight- use the tablet as a light source, flipping it around before himself to sweep over the rooms and halls quickly.

West Hall, then a quick peek in the closet, pass by Pirate Cove - _'Fucking Foxy, power-sappin’ bastard.’_ \- and flip off the curtains along the way. Mike had learned to move fast in his route, no time to waste.

 

**11:50 PM**

 

Backstage looked clear, as best he could tell with a quick glance. No fucking way was he gonna linger there, not after his first near death with a power outage. The memory of his fingernails digging into carpet and tile until they bled flickered in his mind before being shoved aside. No time, no time. Just stay the fuck away from that place. Smelled like death anyway.

Sweep the light over the dining area, flip it over and check the stage before he gets there. The rules were absolute, but that never stopped Freddy and his fucktards from trying to wiggle through loopholes like psychotic children weaseling out of Mommy’s clutches. Better safe than sorry, Mike always told himself, tugging his cap’s brim again while his scars itched in phantom pain.

The show stage was clear; Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie were still standing there with friendly vacant eyes, and Mike paused as he always did to glare distrustfully up at them. In the light of his tablet, the aged and half-repaired animatronics looked as they usually did during the day, but when Mike shifted the light away, he could swear a malevolent gleam entered those huge eyes, replacing them with ones too sharp, too cruel, too human, to be simple glass and wires.

“Midnight, Fazfuck,” Mike growled softly. “You know the rules.” And he walked on, gritting his teeth to keep from shivering at the feel of vicious stares burning into his back. All for Doll. He faced them for weeks for her, he’d keep doing it for her. Fuck them **and** their shit.

 

**11:55 PM**

 

Whimpering and crying made him pause again, hairs rising on the back of his neck. What the fuck was _that_? Mike flipped the tablet up with well practiced ease, a smooth gesture that had it facing him and cameras active in a breath of a moment. His fingers flicked rapidly, beginning the pattern that came automatically for him now. And right away he saw the stage, Freddy and his two buddies looking up at the camera, right at him, fully aware -it seemed- of something disturbing their routine.

“Stay there,” he whispered harshly, flicking ahead of himself. There. The restroom camera picked up a tiny huddled form shivering outside the stalls, shoulders shaking. “Fuck. Who leaves a kid behind in this hellhole?!”

Bad enough he had to deal with these assholes on his own, now he had to look after this kid until 6 AM. That could affect the rules. Shit! Time!

Mike glanced at his watch as he ran for the restrooms. Five minutes. He had five minutes to grab the kid and bolt for his office. The air grew cold. Not yet, not yet.

“Hey, kid!” Mike hissed out urgently, trying not to be frightening to the tyke that jumped at seeing him stick his head in the restroom area. “You gotta come with me, right now!”

“I want my mommy!” the kid cried, snuffling and covered in snot. Ewww.

“She’ll come by in the morning, but right now we gotta go!” Mike urged, reaching out with his palm up, a disarming gesture. He needed this kid to trust him fast. With his free hand he flipped the tablet again to check the cameras.

Freddy had seemed to have lost interest, looking away. Bonnie stayed put, staring at the camera. Chica had moved off the stage, beak hanging open to show her double teeth. Rules had changed. Gotta move, gotta move!

“Who’re you?” the kid asked, rubbing at one eye and looking suspiciously up at him.

“Night watch. I keep an eye on the place. Let’s go, kid. Gotta go to my office, like now,” Mike told him shortly, twisting his wrist to check his watch. Two minutes left.

“But, mommy….”

“I’ll call her when we’re safe. We just need to go!” Mike whispered, motioning with his hand to encourage the kid to come with him. Precious seconds were lost as the tyke fidgeted, then finally stood and grabbed for his hand with shaky fingers. He winced at the scream of betrayal he got when he jerked the kid close, hoisted them up under one arm like a package, and ran like mad for the East Hall. The air was cold. His skin crawled.

 

**11:59 PM**

 

The lights flickered as the building began the switch-over process. His office with the glow of the single cheap light bulb and the droning fan was just ahead. Only a few more feet. He could make it.

_*flicker*_

Mike dug in his heels, gritting his teeth as a cold sweat broke over his forehead, his arm tightening around the kid.

Freddy stood in his path, the shadows cast by the flickering light appeared to writhe around him. His mouth was partially open in that same dopey smile that captivated children of all ages. Mike shrank back, watching him warily as he shivered from the chill air. 30 seconds.

“Rules, Freddy,” he whispered, glaring as he felt his own anger build into confidence. He’s beaten them every night; why should tonight be different? Heat flashed through him, his lips pulling back into a snarl. “Midnight, Fuckface. Give me midnight. Then play. Still not getting in.”

20 seconds.

Freddy didn’t respond. Not normal. Freddy liked talking shit. How much had the rules changed? Oh god, midnight, he **needed** midnight. The shadows squirmed, his eyes burned. Mike stood his ground.

10 seconds.

The lights flickered and, in the moment between light and shadow, Freddy vanished. Mike bolted, clutching the kid tightly as the heat waned. _Step, step, step._ He was in. He was in and holding the kid and tensing, flipping the tablet up to check the show stage just as the world went dark.

 

**12:00 AM**


	2. 12:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock has struck 12, Mike’s shift has started and now the game plays out with the rules changed.

**12:00 AM**

 

Mike dropped the kid unceremoniously onto his chair, tossed the tablet onto the desktop after confirming all three animatronics reset to the stage, and pressed the small of his back against the edge of the desk, gripping the cheap metal for support as waning adrenaline left him weak and dizzy, his scars throbbing in dull pain. Head tilted back, breathing hard from the running and confrontation, he resisted the urge to claw at the scars to relieve the itching and calm himself. The kid was still snuffling and hiccuping, Mike could hear the whimpering even through their attempts to cover it up. He cracked open one eye carefully. The burning was gone. He blinked a few times rapidly, dropped his head forward, and frowned at the kid, squinting.

“Fr-Freddy was there… and-and then he wasn’t! Somebody’s taking Freddy and….!” The kid looked on the verge of wailing. Would that affect the rules?

“Kid, Freddy moves his own fat ass around. Quit crying,” Mike groused, lifting his arms to fold over himself and suppress another shiver. Cold. “Need to call your parents to get you. What’s your number?” The kid wrapped limbs around chubby legs, huddled and shuddering on his chair. A quick shrug of tiny shoulders confirmed his worst guess; kid didn’t know their own home number. _‘Six hours with Freddy bait, fuck me sideways.’_

Mike snatched up the tablet, flipping it over and checking the cameras. Freddy and Chica were on stage, but Bonnie had vanished.

The cameras were dimmer, flickering with dropping frames and static as they sapped power in limiting bursts. Dining room, backstage. Where was Bonnie?

Soft little whines, the kid was gearing up for another round of crying. East Hall, closet. Bonnie, **where** was _Bonnie_?

“Be quiet,” he whispered bitingly, eyes glancing aside at the West Hall door and the darkness beyond. The unheard sound of something _not right_ passed over him, the animatronics were acting off, rules had changed… _cold_.

Faster than he could think about it, Mike lashed out a hand to slam his palm down on the light switch by the door. In the flickering harsh fluorescent light, Bonnie’s face loomed at eye level to him, wet black orbs boring into his glare.

The kid screamed.

Mike flipped his hand in the same moment he registered _'Bonnie’_ , the back of his hand hitting the door control and slamming a wall of thick metal down between him and giant purple animatronic.

Somewhere in the pizzeria, another scream answered, harsh and mechanical with a strangely haunting echo.

_“Shit,”_ Mike hissed, lowering his hand to carefully press the light switch again, watching for the telltale shadow that would be cast down the hall past his window. A dark shape, two tall ears; he was there. Mike flipped the tablet up, checking the meter in a corner of the screen. _96%. 95%._

He checked around. Pirate Cove. The curtains swayed slightly, but there was no part in the fabrics, no single eye gleaming out at him. Freddy on stage. Chica looked up at the camera, beak shut but no less creepy. _93%._

He glanced at the kid, now sitting rigid in the chair and gasping hard, eyes huge and unseeing. Mike tapped the light again. No shadow. His fingers slid up, touched on the door switch and lifted the wall. The air was still and cold.

“Listen up, kid. Freddy and his asswipe buddies might be all smiles and happy-happy to you in the day, but that shit doesn’t happen after dark,” Mike grumbled, leaving the door to press his hip against the desk. He flipped the tablet again, mentally counting the minutes between checks on Pirate Cove as he ran the gauntlet of cameras. Freddy on stage, looking up at him through the screen. Bonnie, standing backstage, head tilted at the wall of costumes, one of them a golden recolor of Freddy’s suit. Chica in mid-dance pose at the restrooms. Something really off about that fucking bird.

Long minutes passed in vague silence, the static-crackle sound of Mike checking the cameras on schedule the only thing that passed for stable noise, next to the buzz of the cheap little fan on the desk. The kid hiccuped at last and Mike spared him a very rare sympathetic look, flipping the tablet down and into standby. “You’ll be okay, kid. I deal with their bullshit every night so I know how they play this stupid game,” he remarked with a shrug. But they **weren’t** playing the same one tonight. Rules had changed. The kid was something new, another one breaking the rule of 'No endoskeletons without suits’, and it felt like the animatronics were _pissed_.

Weird, it didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like the usual gang fuckery. Like it was them, but **not** them. So cold.

“Scary! I wanna go home! Wanna go home!” The kid sobbed pitifully, shaking on his chair and curled into a tight little ball of snot and tears.

What the hell could Mike do? This changed the patterns he knew, the tiny edge he had managed to scrape by on, night after night. He scowled, drawing himself up and clenching his hands into fists. “Kid, I’m getting you out of this hellhole at the end of my shift,” he declared. The tyke peeked up at him, snuffling in uncertainty. “6 AM; that’s the time these asshats flip back to being all nice-nice and not-murderous hellspawn. I’ll get you through the night!”

“Promise?” The kid’s eyes were watery but less glazed over in terror, more focused on him now. Mike nodded once.

“Promise,” he affirmed.

The air felt colder. Busted heater?

This was gonna be a **hell** of a night. Mike flipped the tablet, fingers tapping at the camera icons. Bonnie in the dining area. Chica in the kitchen. Freddy on stage. Pirate Cove was closed.

_89%._

 

**1:00 AM**


	3. 1:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike’s time at Freddy’s gets harder and more dangerous with the addition of a kid not equipped to deal with this shit. More rules are broken and it seems like the power of the Fifth Child is all that stands between them and getting shoved into deadly costumes.

**1:00 AM**

 

The kid looked caught between tired enough to fall asleep and too terrified to do so. Mike didn’t blame them. His own rush of adrenaline from staring down Freddy had worn down on his own energy, making him somewhat drowsy. Not good. His senses, usually so much sharper than normal when in the pizzeria, felt dulled and sluggish.

Just a little rest. A tiny bit of rest….

Mike squinted, tapping the cameras on the screen to bring them up and keep an eye on who was where.

Freddy on stage, head slanted so as to give him a threatening glare.

Chica in the East Hall, wings up to her cheeks and beak wide open. What the fuck was **wrong** with that bird?

Bonnie in the closet, head drooping like he was about to fall asleep.

Pirate Cove unchanged.

“Boring,” the kid muttered after a while. Mike set the tablet down, checking his watch to start his mental countdown again.

“Kid, in this line of work, boring is fucking _awesome_ ,” he grumbled. “Boring means these dumbasses didn’t get near enough to scare the shit outta ya. Boring means gettin’ to live another day. Boring means going home to my perfect girlfriend and not in a garbage bag.”

“Freddy was scary,” the kid mumbled, pouting like the idea of it was a personal offense. Mike lifted an eyebrow at them, folding his arms over his chest again as he stayed pressed against the edge of his desk for support.

Flickers of memory came in clipped bits, of wicked blue eyes and a booming laugh, of struggling against powerful grips, of thrashing as he was dragged to the backstage, the Golden Freddy costume standing and open, of a scream of terror and pure rage that halted the animatronics and bathed him in overwhelming heat just long enough for the clock to roll over to six. He got better with conserving power and checking Freddy’s position after that first failed night.

“Nah, he just talks a lot of shit and acts like he runs the place,” Mike huffed with a flick of one hand, aborting his usual rude gesture just in time. Couldn’t let Freddy and the gang know he was terrified, that he was vulnerable tonight, which made for every reason to not rest like he wished he could, not even for a moment. “But I can get through the night,” -somehow he **always** did- “so he’s not getting in here. Not putting up with his shit tonight.”

“You say a lot of bad words,” the kid pointed out.

“I see a lot of bad shit.”

Check the cameras. Freddy on stage, still glowering. Chica in the East Hall corner. Bonnie still in the closet. Pirate Cove closed.

Mike slid along the desk to stand by the East Hall door.

_84%._

 

**1:30 AM**

 

“How come they move?”

“Free roaming mode, or some shit. I dunno and I don’t care. Just makes my job suck more.”

Freddy on stage. Bonnie in the West Hall. Chica gone.

Mike slammed his palm onto the door switch, barring entry to the room with his own body for a moment before the door slammed down. The kid jumped in place, staring up at him like he’d gone fucking insane.

Maybe he had, _maybe he had_.

He tapped the light on and Chica’s face pressed to the window, beak open and baring double teeth, made the kid shriek in horror. Worse than that, they made a break for it, rushing out of the room in screams.

 _“Fucking **bird**!”_ Mike snarled, switching the light off in the same motion of him turning and bolting after the kid. Bonnie in the West Hall. _**Bonnie** in the **West Hall**_.

Screaming bounced off the walls in painful echoes as the temperature dropped. Kid was fast, but not _that_ fast. Mike quickly caught them by the back of their shirt before they reached the end of the hall where Bonnie stood under a flickering lamp, round purple eyes just staring at the two of them.

 _Shit._ Rules, rules. Don’t leave the office.

Mike backed away, slowly at first as the kid stumbled backwards with gasping sobs barely held behind hands shaking in place. Then faster, bit by bit, pulling the kid up in both arms - _fuck_ , the tablet was left behind- to carry them, shield them. Bonnie’s mouth opened, his head twitching to the sides randomly.

Mike took it as cue to run, head low as he raced back to the safety of the office. So _cold_.

He dropped the kid down onto his chair and kept moving. East Hall exit; he tapped the light again.

Chica was gone.

Mike lifted the door and grabbed the tablet, biting his lip as he ran the pattern of checks again.

Freddy on stage.

Bonnie in the dining area.

Chica banging around in the kitchen where he couldn’t see.

Pirate Cove’s curtains had parted, Foxy leaning out of its depths to squint up at him, sharp teeth parted just enough to give him a curious expression.

_80%._

Freddy laughed.

 

**2:00 AM**


	4. 2:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kid is really throwing Mike off his game, and that’s bad as Freddy’s pals keep coming at him fast and hard. Could stepping out of bounds to look after the kid cost Mike more than just his measly pay?

**2:00 AM**

 

“ **Don’t** fucking move from that spot,” Mike snarled when the kid fidgeted again. He was still trying to learn the new pattern of movements, figure out what Freddy’s plan of attack would be, and this kid peeking out doors and windows was putting him on edge. Bonnie and Chica had been tests, checking on him, probably to see what he had, how he could deal, how far he went beyond the lines drawn by the rules. If they caught him this time….

His scars itched and he didn’t bother restraining himself, just reached up to rub at them through the fabric of his cap, digging his fingertips in to massage hard rather than scratch. Doll didn’t approve of the scratching; she worried he could rip the skin open and started bleeding all over the place, pass out or croak or something. He didn’t want to worry her, so he rubbed instead. Still itched.

Two hours and down to 77% power. Mike already knew this wouldn’t be a good one, but the odds were rising higher against him. Check the cameras. Freddy on stage. Bonnie in the backstage. Chica in the kitchen still. Foxy snarled up at the camera, wet black eyes gleaming with unholy luminescence.

“I have to pee,” the kid whined. Without looking up from the tablet, Mike grabbed an empty Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria cup and held it out to them. “I can’t pee in that!”

“Everything’s a toilet if you try hard enough,” Mike muttered, flipping the tablet down after noting the battery. _75%_.

The kid’s bottom lip jutted out. “B-but-!”

“It’s better than having some duck robot watching you while you take a piss. Trust me,” Mike growled.

The lip quivered. Mike sighed in dread. _‘Well, fuck me sideways….’_

 

**2:05 AM**

 

The air was cold. Mike shivered, rubbing one arm absently, the tablet pressed against his hip from where it was held securely with his right hand gripping it tight.

The sound of water swirling inside a stall made him twitch, eyes darting around the dim area for signs of any interested animatronic animals. Were the toilets _always_ this loud? He never noticed that before.

Rushing water. God, so fucking _loud_! Mike bent in place, watching the far end of the hall for motion. Chica had been doing her thing in the kitchen just beyond the bend, smashing up pots and platters. He couldn’t see more than her basic shape through the glass windows on the doors; it was so dark in there, and his breath fogged the glass. But she had been busy and he guided the tap-dancing tyke to the restrooms in relative peace and silence.

Finally the noise stopped and the kid stepped out, looking up at him strangely. “Whatcha doin’?” they asked. Mike raised a finger to his lips sharply, shaking his head at the tyke. They hunched down, eyes wide but catching on. “Freddy?”

“Been watching him,” Mike whispered, tapping his thumb against the tablet, lifting his hand from his mouth to his cap and tugging at the bill. “He can’t move from the stage if I keep watching him there.” But the rules were different for tonight. “Gotta worry about Chica. Fucking bird.”

He moved down the hall, beckoning the child to follow along behind him. The pots and pans clattered and crashed in the kitchen ahead. Mike twitched at the feel of the kid grabbing his pant leg, clutching the fabric tight as they whimpered softly. He gestured for quiet again and kept walking.

Around the corner. He paused to check the cameras. Freddy on stage. Bonnie in the closet. Foxy turned his head, ears perked as he remained mostly shielded by the curtains of Pirate’s Cove. Chica in the kitchen.

Or not. The audio was silent.

 _'God fucking dammit, **where** is she?!’_ He tapped around, straining his ears. The noise in the kitchen had stopped during his checking. Nowhere else. She wasn’t anywhere he could see. That left two places; the blind spot just outside the office door, and inside the office itself.

He swallowed hard and pressed on, tucking the tablet back under his arm. _71%_

 

**2:15 AM**

 

Mike passed the doors that led to the silent kitchen, giving it a wary look as he placed himself between them and the kid. Open doors were a hazard, closed doors that he hadn’t closed himself even more so.

“Hey, Mister,” the kid called up softly and Mike turned his attention to them.

 _“SCREEEE!”_ Chica screamed, an unholy mechanical shriek that had Mike twist on his heel, brace himself, and scream right back. **Hot** , _cold_ , **hot** , _cold_.

Feathers and fabric covered metal wings that flapped wildly, Chica’s beak snapping as she lunged out of the kitchen. “Run!” Mike yelled, unable to look back at the kid as he swerved and dodged the animatronic, backing away rapidly to keep himself out of arm’s reach.

**D͞o̵͞n͏͡͠'̶̧̛t h͟urt̸̢ ̴M̨i҉͝k̕͠e̵͢y̸͡!̸̷͠**

Fucking shit, why was it so _cold_?! He could hear the stomping of little feet as the kid bolted for the office, screaming in terror. Twist, turn, step. **Faster!**

**__** _“SCREEEEEEEE!”_

Chica’s head pivoted forward, blue eyes bulging and leaking fluids.

“FUCKING-!”

**D͠O͠͡N'̴͜T̷͝ ͞H̴͏͏U͏̶R̨͡T͠ M̡̡I̡͘K͟͞E͞Y͡҉̧!̶̵̛!̴̛͘**

 

**2:20 AM**


	5. 2:20 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping Chica is no easy feat, and neither is looking after this kid. Not with the rules changing so much. Mike is struggling and it’s going to wear on him pretty fast.

**2:20 AM**

 

Burning hot. Like a fever but no dizziness, or the air conditioner broken down but not suffocating him. He tapped the cameras. Freddy on stage, laughing. Bonnie in the West Hall. Foxy retreated behind the curtains; that was new.

Chica in the dining room, beak hanging open with shreds of fabric dangling where they caught on her teeth.

Mike flipped up his middle finger at the image of her on the tablet screen, flat glare on his face. “Fucking annoying bird,” he muttered before flipping the tablet down and getting to his feet. Scraps of cloth hung at his waist where half his security shirt had been ripped away, leaving him with just one sleeve, the other half of the shirt and part of the collar from the missing half. He flexed his bare arm, frowning at the scrapes and bruising dotting his skin. Chica’s teeth missed their mark when her beak closed too fast, catching the side of his sleeve and ramming the edge of her bill against his arm.

He was pretty sure she’d been aiming to clamp down directly onto his upper arm.

At the very last second, when he felt sweltering heat, eyes burning as Mike glared at Chica, screaming in defiance - _“FUCKING TRY IT!”_ \- and moving forward to feint and dodge… at that moment he saw Chica’s resolve falter, just a little.

Teeth closed on fabric, not flesh, the hard edge of her beak ramming his arm and shoving him into the wall, his clothes ripping apart under the stress. Then she was gone, running up the hall with half his shirt caught in her mouth.

“How am I gonna explain **this** to Boss?!” Mike yelled in frustration. The shirt was his uniform; he’d have to pay for the damages if he couldn’t give a good reason why it was messed up and ‘attacked by Chica’ wouldn’t count.

He needed to check on the kid. A glance at the battery before he started walking - _66%._ Shit, he missed the funny bit.- and Mike began making his way back to the office, the tablet tucked under his arm to discourage using its light.

 

**2:25 AM**

 

The kid wasn’t there.

Mike stared at the empty office, teeth clenched as he swept his gaze over the room. Not under the desk either, and the small space didn’t offer any other place to hide. The kid must have run straight through and into the West Hall. “Fuck me sideways,” he muttered, bringing up the tablet to check the cameras.

Bonnie in the closet. Foxy’s nose was poking out of Pirate’s Cove. _64%._

A bit of movement in the dining area. Wait. Was that the kid? Mike didn’t see any of the animatronics there. This would be a good time to make a run for the kid; the path to the dining area was clear.

He grabbed his paper sack of lunch and his phone, a quick glance telling him there was a message left on the office phone’s answering machine. _'Doll. Shit, I missed her call!’_ And when he didn’t pick up his phone, she must have dialed the office and left him a message. A pang of lovesick disappointment washed over him for a moment and he indulged in the small smile he gave the phone before setting the emotion aside to focus. Get the kid, come back to the office, survive until 6 AM; he can call her back once he had the tyke and both doors on his side.

Mike shoved the phone in his pocket and tucked his lunch inside his ruined shirt. Tablet in his clutches, he headed out into the West Hall, running for the dining room with the heels of his shoes sounding staccato taps over the tile. Cold. The air felt cold. Fucking ventilation never works right.

 

_Chica pressed her face to the window, wet black eyes rolling in their sockets as she scanned the empty room. The haunting cackle of a long lost voice echoed as if from the distance._

_Chica stepped inside the office._

 

**2:30 AM**

 

Check cameras. Bonnie in the closet still. Freddy on stage. Chica… where the **fuck** did that damn chicken go **now**?! Probably in the blind spot outside his office. Joke’s on her. Mike tapped the camera for Pirate Cove, only to find the curtains thrown open, fluttering in the wake of a charging Foxy.

That explained the heavy thud-thud-thud-thud rapidly getting louder and closer.

Mike threw himself aside, crouched and back pressed close to the wall. He held his breath, clutched the tablet close to his chest to hide its standby light, and waited.

A few seconds later, Foxy came racing down the hall at full speed, arms held forward. Mike smirked as the animatronic raced right by in front of him. Foxy’s head swiveled around, jaw open in apparent shock as the rest of his body kept on going. Funny thing about Foxy; bastard couldn’t stop himself once he hit top speed. He had to hit something to do that, most often the door Mike would slam shut in his face.

Only, now there were no doors to stop him.

“Not my problem,” Mike decided, tugging on his hat and resuming his trek to get the kid. Foxy will find something to crash into, maybe Bonnie, and then he’d tromp his furry ass back to Pirate Cove and sit there.

He had to pass the backstage room to get to the dining area. Cold. Mike shuddered, glaring at the door as he hurried. How the hell it managed to stay stinking like that no matter how often the janitor cleaned it was beyond him. More of Freddy Fazfuck’s mind games? Another hallucination, as persistent as the flickering images that sometimes teased on the edges of his vision? Shadows of tiny figures that seemed to vanish if he tried to turn his attention on them, giggles and screams as the animatronics took their turns trying to sneak into the office and grab him again…. Sometimes the asswipes just camped him, trying to drain his power supply, running off when he stood at the window and roared at them to get the fuck away from the door.

Tonight wasn’t like any of those.

Check cameras. Pirate Cove’s curtains were closed again. So Foxy had crashed into something after all. Mike wondered what it was briefly, then went on the hunt for the kid.

Chica still missing. Freddy on stage. Bonnie in the West Hall. _61%._

Shit, this wasn’t good.

Mike stepped into the dining area, flipping the tablet and sweeping the light over the room before setting it back on standby. “Hey, kid!” he called out, secure in the knowledge that Freddy wouldn’t try anything after he’d been stared at on camera. Of course, that was when everyone was following the rules….

He shivered. Cold.

“M-Mister Guard?” The kid crawled out from under a table, looking up at him in the dim, dim glow of moonlight leaking in from the windows at the entrance.

“Schmidt. Name’s Mike Schmidt,” he corrected with a huff, rubbing at one arm to warm up. “C'mon. We need to get back to the office.” The kid nodded, sniffling as they glanced around warily, then got up to join him.

“What happened to your shirt?”

“Fucking **bird** happened. Less talking, more walking. Only have 60% power left.”

 

_**Bonnie in the West Hall!** _

“Get the hell **away** from me!” Mike yelled, ducking and dodging the purple rabbit’s attempts to grab him. At first sight of each other, Bonnie had screeched with those same eerie black eyes and run straight at him. Mike had shoved the tablet into the kid’s arms and told them to run for the office at first chance. The kid hauled ass, screaming in terror as Bonnie blew past them for Mike, chomping at the air madly as arms swung to capture and hold tight.

He ducked and twisted aside, watching Bonnie’s movements to stay out of his reach. What the **hell**?! Why were they **so** pissed off? Weeknight rule said he had to stay in the office; weekends he had free reign of the place as long as he carried the tablet to check everyone’s positions. Was it because he was out on a weeknight? The kid? **Both?**

God, he was fucking _freezing_.

 _“Gngh!”_ Careless. Bonnie got behind him in the scuffle in the narrow hall and grabbed both of his arms, pulling them back to force Mike into stopping, otherwise he risked dislocating something.

 **Fuck** it. He’d take getting back to Doll alive and minus an arm or two over keeping both while stuffed into a death suit any night. He struggled, twisting and snarling as he dug his heels into the floor to slow Bonnie down. The rabbit was trudging backwards, dragging Mike with him towards the backstage. “Let **go** of me! Bonnie! Get the fuck **off** me!”

Le͟a͏v͜e ̵̷̨Mi̶k͡͠e̸y a҉̕̕lǫ̸n̵҉ę̷!̵͠

He leaned forward, clenching his teeth and cringing at the sound of his heels scratching the shiny tile. No… no….

Ļ̴e̕͢t͘ ̡͞h͢i͏m͠ ̛g͝o!̷

_“Noooo!”_

L͞E̛T͟ ̷̷̢H͜I̸͏M̛̕͏ ̴G̶̵͡O̵͡!

A blinding flash of light matched the flare of heat that blasted over him, rage and terror and the burning desire to escape and go home to his Doll’s loving hugs. He shrieked, his voice filling the air with jarring sound as Bonnie abruptly let him go and flailed, servos whining and whirring.

“Mr. Schmidt! Let’s go!”

He couldn’t see, stumbling forward and feeling a small hand grab his, pulling at him, leading him. Mike ran, eyes shut and dizzy from everything that had just happened, brain throbbing and scalp sticky with warm liquid. “C'mon, this way!” The kid tugged on his hand again.

The clicking of his shoes on tile faded to soft scuffs on carpet. That wasn’t right. The office didn’t have nice enough carpet to soften his footsteps like this. This was plush carpet. Dining area carpet. Mike stopped, pulling back on the kid’s hand as he carefully opened his eyes. He saw a few spots that lingered, and the flush of warmth still ran under his skin, but he was clear-minded enough to recognize that they **weren’t** in his office.

“Kid, I told ya to get in-!” Mike began to yell, only for the tyke to hold out his tablet to him.

“The door was shut, Mr. Schmidt! I couldn’t get in!” Those words rang all kinds of wrong. Shut?! That couldn’t be right; the only way to shut the door would be to press the switch for it and if it was down….

The power!

Mike flipped the tablet to check the battery. 57% and falling. Fuck! He had to get into the office from the other side and raise the door before it hit 50%. How did the door even get closed to begin with?

“C'mon, kid! We gotta move it!” Mike declared, snatching up the tyke in one arm and running for the East Hall.

_Freddy’s head turned, his gaze following him._

_56%._

 

**3:00 AM**


	6. 3:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without the cameras to help them, Mike and the kid are scrambling to get back to the office and raise the door. But Freddy’s put a bounty on Mike’s head and the animatronics aren’t afraid of fighting over him to get it, even if he and the kid are caught in the crossfire.

**3:00 AM**

 

Cold. It was _cold_.

Mike couldn’t check the cameras, not at the risk of speeding up the power drain. He clenched his teeth, listening for the movements of the animatronics. He could hear the _thud-thud-thud_ rhythm of Foxy’s steps as he ran from Pirate Cove, the laugh of Freddy Fazbear as he was finally able to step off the stage.

“Wh-what was Bonnie **doing** to you, Mr. Schmidt? B-Back when I used the light on him?” the kid stammered in a quiet voice, clinging to Mike for dear life.

“Nothing good, kid. Nothing good,” he returned shortly. “What light did you use?”

“The tablet one. I saw you use it as a flashlight, so I just shined it in Bonnie’s face.”

That was actually pretty fucking clever. It was like using the door lights, flashing them to startle the animatronics at the office long enough to slam the door down. Why didn’t he think of that sooner? Oh yeah. Power.

Rattling in the kitchen up ahead. Fucking bird. _‘Don’t come out, for fuck’s sake….’_

The kitchen doors were flung out, Chica scurrying out towards him with flapping wings, whining servos, and a shrill scream filling the air. Mike flinched, jerking aside and hunching his shoulders reflexively, trying to protect himself from the painful sound. The kid fell out of his grasp, little hands scrabbling for the tablet again.

“Don’t! You’ll use up power!” Mike blurted out, reaching out just before Chica reached them and grabbed onto him. Her wings wrapped around his body, pinning his arms to his sides in a frigid bearhug - _'Freddy’s method?’_ \- that seemed sharper against the fever heat singing through his limbs.

-L̶̸e̶t ̡̡ḩ̧im g̵͠o̶͘҉!̛͘ ̡̡͢H͝e̡͢'s̨ ̕͢o̧͟u͜ŗ̧͟ ̷f̨͡r̢̡i̴̕e̵͜n͡d͘͟;͞ ͜wh̕y̢҉ ̛̛ą͝r͝e̢͝ y̷͢o̶͜u͢ do̕͜i̡̕ng͏ ͝t͞h̢͠is͏?͟!͡-

The kid hesitated, frozen in place in sheer terror. The tablet was gripped tight in their hands, standby light blinking dim in the hallway. Mike felt himself be lifted from the floor, feet kicking uselessly at the air - _'I can’t damage Chica, I’ll get fired, I’m going to die, but if I get out of this, I **can’t** damage Chica, she **knows** this, fucking **bird**!’_\- as he yelled in fear and fury. Struggling, wriggling, gasping, legs swinging wildly to get traction on something, anything…. Chica was rocking in place as she waddle-walked past the kid.

 _“N-now, now-ow, Mikey. It’s t-time to put on your-your suit and be the G-Golden Freddy!”_ Chica’s voicebox still stuttered, as did all the animatronics’ voices, but this was the first time, _all night_ , that **any** of them spoke.

“I’m **not** joining your fuckboy leader on that stage in a fucking death suit!” Mike snarled, struggling harder. God, how much power was left? Not enough time passed!

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

 _“Aaaarrrgh! Chica! Th-that be me prize b-booty ye be loo-lootin’ from me!”_ Foxy roared suddenly, racing into view as the bedraggled pirate charged straight for them. Chica twisted in place, turning Mike out of the way so her head could face Foxy.

 _“I s-set the tr-trap and caught him! Freddy’s reward is m-mine! He pr-promised me p-pizza!”_ she protested and squawked when Mike’s change in direction drew him closer to a wall. Mike kicked his legs up, planted his feet against the surface, and pushed.

The kid screamed.

Chica screamed.

Foxy screamed.

In an instant, the fox smashed straight into the chicken, sending them both along with Mike sprawling over the floor in a massive heap.

He heard the snap before he felt it and it took a moment to register the sound as having come from him before the pain shot through him. Mike screamed, writhing in agony as the bulk of Chica’s body kept his lower left leg pinned to the tile.

-W̵͠͞h̶͟aţ̴ ̛̛d̷̷̢id̴̸͠ ̛͢y͘ou͏ ͡d͜o ̕͜t͏o̡͏ ̢h͠i̵m?̧͡͠!-

Foxy yipped in surprise, clawing and scratching the floor to get up. Chica yelped again, dragged off of Mike by the pirate’s clambering to escape the tangled mess. Mike was immediately scrambling away on his hands and knees, teeth clenched tight against the pain still firing up his leg. The kid was just down the hall, hugging the tablet and wailing. How’d they get **that** far off?

Move, move! He pushed himself up from the floor in stumbling steps, crying out when putting even a tiny bit of weight on his left leg sent lightning strikes of agony through him. He fell against the wall, leaning heavily against it and using it as a crutch, hobbling forward to the corner towards the kitchen.

“Mr. Schmidt! Your leg!” the kid cried, hopping back and forth on their feet as the two of them reached the kitchen. “Your leg is-!”

“Broken. Like I can’t _fucking_ tell?” Mike growled in a strained voice. He took a deep breath, pushed against the wall, and fell against the door, pressing his face into it to muffle the pained cry threatening to escape him. “Need to get in,” he managed to groan.

The kid held the door open just enough to let Mike hobble in and peer around the dimly lit kitchen. So many pizza ovens; the glows of their clocks played over the counters. **3:30 AM.**

Freddy laughed again, his voice echoing through the building.

Mike looked up at the ceiling, tracking the bear mentally as he breathed hard, heaving from the effort of moving on a broken leg. He leaned back against a counter top, arms resting heavily on the surface to hold his weight. Freddy could either be lightning fast or slow as fuck, taking his sweet time to get to the office. He hoped this would be a slow walk.

“What are we doing here?” the kid asked. They looked up at him, pale and scared and shaking, clutching the tablet that was pretty much their lifeline.

“Getting stuff,” he muttered in a short burst of inspiration, looking around to improvise a splint. A pair of wooden spoons, the ties of aprons that were cut off with the help of a kitchen knife; with these in hand, Mike studied his leg carefully in the dim light. Nothing was poking out, so it wasn’t a major break. A fracture, then? Even a fracture hurt like a bitch. He had the kid hold the spoons against his leg and ground his teeth together as he tied the apron strings tight around them.

In the murk of shadows and his own hazy vision, Mike thought he saw bands of ghostly black wrap over them, sinking into his skin and securing the splint even more. Maybe the heat was getting to him.

“Hungry….” the kid mumbled, their stomach growling.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Mike sighed in exasperation and pulled his lunch from within his shirt to shove towards the kid. “Here. And don’t bitch about it.” They took it and opened the crumpled sack to pull out a sandwich that looked nothing like it should.

“Mr. Schmidt?” the kid questioned.

“What the _fuck_ did I just say?” Mike growled before jerking his head up to stare at the doors. There had been a rattle, faint but clear. The kid froze in place, sandwich already half-stuffed into their mouth and eyes darting back and forth between him and the doors. Mike carefully pushed himself from the counter, picking up a broom to use as a makeshift crutch and gritting his teeth to hold in groans while limping over to the kitchen entrance. He held onto the broomstick and then oh so slowly pushed the door open.

 _“SCREEEEEE!!!”_ Chica’s beak was split open wide, revealing the more human-like set deep within her throat were also open with the shriek, body shaking and flailing with her brightly artificial eyes staring at him.

The kid answered in kind with a terrified scream, dropping the sandwich from their mouth onto the floor.

 _“Fuck **off** , Chica!”_ Mike roared in annoyance. He was in pain and hungry, he missed Doll’s call, his leg was broken and it was that _fucking_ bird’s fault, and the power was still draining; he wasn’t in the mood for **anyone’s** shit tonight.

Neither was Chica. Her eyes rolled up and back into her head, white melting to black and pinpricks of unholy white glowing, the mechanical scream turning more inhuman. Mike held still, alarm -so cold, _cold_ \- ghosting over him, chilling his blood as his brow furrowed in confusion. The rules… it **had** to be a change of rules…..

Chica’s head pitched forward, beak snapping shut in time to ram into Mike’s right shoulder, spinning him in place as he yelled in pain, the snap he felt scoring through his body while the animatronic chicken flapped her way into the kitchen, nearly trampling the kid that dove out of the way.

 _“P-p-p-pizza! Wel-welcome to F-F-F-Freddy Fazb-bear’s Pizzeria!”_ Chica’s voice box stuttered her lines, the bird hurling herself at a pile of trays and pots. _“L-let’s eat! **E̷v͜͞ȩ̸r̡͘͢͠y̸̴̷̡͠o̷̸̡n͢͢͞͞e̶̕~̨͞** …”_

Mike leaned his weight onto the broomstick, breathing hard as the fucked up ventilation system flipped to warm, heating his body enough to make the dislocated shoulder feel almost numb. The kid crawled towards him, sandwich gone and tablet tucked close to their body. They looked up at him in a panic, eyes welling up with frightened tears.

“Power’s wasting. Let’s go,” Mike huffed and limp-hobbled out into the hall. The kid followed him, flipping the tablet over to look at the battery meter.

_40%._

_Not far in the distance, Freddy laughed again, the sound rolling down the hall like thick fog._

 

**4:00 AM**


	7. 4:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power is dangerously low for this time of night. Mike has to stay on guard and be almost perfect in checking cameras and the lights. But with his injuries, he realizes that he can’t move as quickly to reach the switches and check the cameras. And with the power this low, he can’t check them all.
> 
> Meanwhile, Freddy continues to advance, slow and steady. Is there anything Mike can think up to overcome this turn of events?

**4:00 AM**

 

The office with its flickering cheap light fixture and noisy little fan looked like paradise. Mike hobbled in and leaned against the West Hall exit, pressing the switch to raise the door. _Finally_. Now to try and survive the last two hours with less than half the power left. It was going to be one of those close ones, he could feel it. Exhausted more than he ever thought he could be, Mike wiped his free hand over his face with a sigh, coming away with a decent amount of blood-stained sweat that had peppered his forehead. The cheap fan on the security monitor desk wasn’t helping.

The kid sat in the office chair after pushing it closer to the office desk, running their fingers over the tablet. Mike crooked a finger at them and the kid scooted forward, the wheels of the chair squeaking as they rolled. Once closer, they watched in grim silence as Mike tapped a button to turn on the screen, then tapped a series of other buttons to click from camera to camera.

Bonnie in the dining area. Chica in the kitchen. Foxy peeking out of Pirate Cove.

Freddy’s eyes gleamed bright as jewels from where he lurked in the bathrooms.

_38%_

Mike clicked the screen off and leaned back against the wall with a sigh, hand reaching up to probe at his shoulder as he carefully sat on the edge of the office desk to keep weight off his splinted leg. Definitely popped out of place by Chica’s hit; fuck, **how** was he going to explain these injuries to Boss? To _Doll_?

The message!

He reached out as best he could to fumble with the answering machine, rewinding the tape and pressing play.

_“Mikey~! You didn’t answer your phone or the office phone so I guess you’re, ahem, taking care of business? Hee hee! Just called to let you know how much I love you~! Enjoy your lunch and have a good night! See you tomorrow!”_

-Beep!-

Mike felt the smile stretched across his face warm him more pleasantly than the heat of the broken central air system. His sweet Doll, so perfect and precious. He would do anything for her, give up anything for her.

“She sounds pretty,” the kid commented suddenly, and his gaze snapped to the smug little smile on their face. “Is she your giiiiiirlfriend?”

“Yeah, so shut it,” Mike grumbled, face flushing.

There was silence after that. The kid poked at the buttons on the tablet in boredom until Mike smacked their hand and opted to show them how the power drained when the cameras were activated.

_34%_

Bonnie in the closet. Chica in the East Hall. Foxy leaning out of the Cove. Freddy still staring at the camera from the bathroom.

“I can’t keep watching ‘em anymore,” Mike murmured, tapping back and forth between Foxy and Freddy before flipping the tablet again. “The other two, Bonnie and Chica,” he explained when the kid gave him a horrified look. “We’re too low on power. Gotta focus the little bit we have on making sure Foxy and Fuckboy don’t move from their spots.”

“But what if Bonnie and Chica come **here** when we’re not looking?!” the kid blurted out, looking back and forth at the two open doors. Mike carefully turned his right hand, flinching a bit, and read the time on his watch. **4:20 AM.**

“Okay. This is the fucking worst idea I’ve ever had since I decided to keep this shit job,” - _'Mr. Schmidt, you’re swearing again.’_ \- “but what I would do is just go back and forth, clicking the lights on for a second and then checking the cameras.” Mike pointed to the buttons by the doors on each side of the office, the kid following him so far. “This way the light would make them freeze for a sec and then I can close the door on 'em if they’re standing there.”

“But your leg’s broken and your arm is all,” the kid made a motion like they were pulling something apart in tightly fisted hands, “so how you gonna do that?”

“We take turns.” Mike grumbled sourly. The kid stared at him. “Hey, I **said** it was a fucking bad idea, didn’t I?! But we gotta do it to stay alive; I didn’t last this long just to get shoved into a Fuckboy costume cuz you can’t push two buttons without pissin’ yourself!” he declared. He studied both doors carefully, then -after debating it for longer than he should have- he pointed at the East Hall door. “Take that side. I’ll stay on this side.”

Swallowing hard, the kid pushed the office chair over to the door and climbed back on after passing the tablet back to Mike. “The bottom one is the light?” they asked and Mike nodded. They tapped it experimentally, watching the light flicker sporadically before turning it off. “The top is the door?”

“Yeah, and don’t trigger it. Takes more power than the light,” Mike pointed out.

 

**4:30 AM**

 

Silence ruled the tiny office. Mike fiddled with his phone, head angled to listen to the empty hall outside his door. Part of him wanted to call Doll, but he couldn’t afford the distraction now. Trying to think over whether or not to call had given him a headache; rubbing to relieve the ache only brought his attention to the dried blood sticking to his scalp that hadn’t been cleaned away by sweating. The scars had bled at some point; he couldn’t remember when or why. Just as well. Didn’t matter.

Every now and then he would flip the tablet to check Pirate Cove and the restrooms. Once those two were pinned in place for another few minutes by being looked at, Mike flipped the tablet down and pressed the back of his left hand to the door light button.

Empty.

The kid would click their own door light, trembling as it flickered on to show if anyone was out there.

Empty.

He didn’t mean to doze, but the air was chilly and his leg and arm hurt so much. Mike closed his eyes, trying to will away the bone deep weariness, only to come to with a start at hearing the wheels of his chair rattling. The kid was moving back and forth on the office chair, kicking at walls to propel themself between the two doors and hit the lights.

His eyes shot to the clock in alarm. **4:50 AM.**

“The **fuck** -?” he rasped out, groggy confusion still making him slow and stupid.

“Sorry!” The kid kicked by him again, stopping in front of the tablet now propped up on the desk against the office phone. They poked at a couple of buttons, the cameras flicking to Pirate Cove and the restrooms. “You fell asleep and I kinda had to take over a bit but can you do your side now? This is really scary!”

Mike rubbed at his face, trying to chase away the last of the fog in his head. “You should have woken me up!” he hissed.

“You looked really tired and I thought it’d be okay for a little bit. I closed both doors for a while, to let you sleep,” the kid murmured, fidgeting on the chair.

_**'What?!’** _

Mike jerked himself away from the wall he’d been resting against, snatching up the tablet and pulling it onto his lap. He clicked it out of standby to check the power.

_28%_

Not good. He couldn’t think of how he could get through the last hour and ten minutes on less than 30% power.

Cold.

He was going to die tonight, no way could he hold out till 6 AM on just this. This kid had doomed him.

So cold.

No, he doomed himself, when he said he’d look after the kid and keep 'em safe. He was so stupid when it came to decisions, always seemed to make the worst choices.

Shoulda called Doll when he wasn’t in so much pain. Now he really can’t. Mike knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his voice steady if he called now, not with pain and panic creeping over him. She’d catch on something was wrong and rush over, possibly ram her father’s truck into the doors to bust in since she knows he keeps them locked during his shift.

What could he do now?

Out of habit, Mike clicked the light switch, glanced over the area, then clicked it back off. The kid did the same across the office from him.

What was going to happen to them? Mike already knew Freddy would stuff his ass in a suit at first chance, but the kid? What would they do to the kid?

“Mr. Schmidt, what’s Golden Freddy? I’ve never seen him and I come to Freddy’s all the time,” the kid asked suddenly, pulling Mike from his thoughts. He looked over to see the kid just standing on the chair, giving him a puzzled expression. “Chica said something about Golden Freddy. What’s a Golden Freddy? Is that a new version of Freddy? One not so scary?”

“…It’s a suit, kid,” Mike answered slowly, moving enough to flip the tablet and check on Foxy and Freddy.

Foxy, still leaning out of Pirate Cove. Freddy moved; Mike tapped the kitchen feed and listened to the sound of the music box for a second before flipping it back down and to standby. The kid tensed, eyes wide with alarm.

“That’s Freddy’s song!” they whispered. Mike nodded. He flicked the door light again, checking outside as the kid did the same. Nothing. The animatronics were probably feinting, letting Freddy move in for the kill.

“How come we never see Golden Freddy in the Fazbear Band? They took Foxy out but we know he used to be in the show,” the kid pressed on after a minute more of silence.

Mike gripped at his injured arm, a scowl crossing his face. Why was this kid bugging about this crap? It wasn’t gonna matter soon. Whether they make it to 6 AM or not, it wouldn’t matter what his answer would be.

_27%_

“It’s not real, not really. The suit is there, but only when **I’m** here,” Mike grumbled. “Stupid shit.”

“How come they want you to wear it? Is that part of your job too?” the kid asked, recoiling when Mike shot him a vicious glare.

“That thing is a **death suit**! These fuckheads keep trying to shove me in there, and if that happens, I’m **dead**!” he snarled, a burning anger flaring through him. “All that’s stoppin’ that from happenin’ is the shit amount of power I have to close these doors in their faces until 6 AM and now I don’t even have enough to last the final hour!”

The kid huddled in place, staring at him in terror. Probably was a bit much to scream at the little tyke. Mike sighed harshly, rubbing at his face. “I said I’d get you out of here. I’ll try to hold them off for as long as I can. Who knows? Maybe another fucking miracle will happen like my first night and keep my ass alive long enough to see 6 AM.”

Long enough to see Doll again.

 

_The Toreador March tinkled merrily on, faint but steady._

 

**5:00 AM**


	8. 5:00 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the final hour, the last of the night shift. Safe for now in the office, Mike and the kid have to coordinate checking the lights and cameras to keep Freddy and the gang at bay.
> 
> But the rules have still changed and some of Mike’s tricks for countering the animatronics don’t work anymore. The pressure’s on to survive and see 6 AM.

****

****5:00 AM** **

 

“Okay, kid, this is it. Last hour,” Mike muttered, settling himself in place to keep an eye on both the West Hall and the tablet in his lap. The nap, dangerous as it was to have, had refreshed him a good deal. A strange warmth passed over him, easing the ache of his shoulder, deadening the pain of his broken leg. Some nights he was glad for the fucked up ventilation. “Not too hot for ya?” He glanced at the kid, realizing he’d never checked how they fared in the random bursts of hot and cold.

The kid gave him a strange look. “No?” they replied questioningly.

Mike shrugged it off, wincing at the protest his dislocated one gave him, then flipped the tablet to check on Freddy and Foxy. The Toreador March continued tinkling away in the kitchen, tinny notes of bell-like sound that never failed to make Mike’s skin crawl. He flicked away from it quickly. Hopefully that was long enough to buy them a few minutes.

Foxy was out of Pirate Cove, caught in a pose that would have been fucking hilarious to see if it didn’t mean the ratty fox was ready to go tearing down the hallway.

He flipped the tablet over, kept his fingers near the light switch of his door, and listened. On the opposite side of the office, the kid did the same, huddled in on themself with fear-widened eyes.

The faint strains of carnival music played, footsteps tapped over tile in the distance.

 

****

****5:10 AM** **

 

**__**

_**__** _Thud-thud-thud-thud!_ _

“Shit!” Mike slammed the door button just as the glow of Foxy’s pinprick eyes started rapidly advancing through the darkness. The kid jumped in place, squeaking in terror while fist and hook banged on the door.

One….

Two….

Three….

“You ****know**** I’m gonna close the door on ya, why the fuck do ya even bother coming, you asshole?!” Mike yelled through the metal wall.

__

__“M-M-Mikey~! Co-come out and p-p-p-d̴̸̕i͏͘e̕͜͝͝-play!”_ _

Mike snarled at the door, a nearly feral sounding growl issuing out between his teeth. Footsteps hurried away and Mike lifted the door, peering out into the shadows.

Gone.

He flipped the tablet, checked the power. __22%__. Not good. Still draining too fast.

He checked the kitchen. The sounds of the music box continued to filter through the audio feed. Freddy was lurking, biding his time.

“Did Foxy say for you to __d-d-die__?” the kid whispered in horror, face pale and tears welling up in their eyes.

“These fuckboys say that to me every night,” Mike muttered, looking aside at them. “I’m still here.”

__

__“Why?!”_ _

“That’s my business, not yours.”

 

****

****5:20 AM** **

 

Foxy peeking out the Cove. Freddy in the kitchen.

__

__20%_ _

Mike flipped the tablet down and rubbed his shoulder carefully, wincing in pain. Cold, so __cold__. It stung his injuries, sapped at his strength, made him drowsy. Where was the warmth from earlier? His leg felt numb and heavy.

“Mr. Schmidt, I hear something,” the kid whispered, staring into the dark beyond the door.

“Wait. Wait.” Mike mumbled, straining to listen for sounds.

Footsteps.

A faintly hoarse gasp.

“Shut it!” Mike barked out, pointing at the door switch. ****“Now!”**** The kid jumped, moving their hand up to press the button.

__

__-Crick!-_ _

Mike’s eyes widened, a sharp chill running down his spine as he heard the dreaded sound. The control wasn’t responding. He kept his arm stretched out, gesturingly slightly as he trembled. So long… it had been __so long__ since he felt this kind of fear.

“It’s not working, Mr. Schmidt!” the kid cried, pressing the switch repeatedly.

“Get away from the door,” Mike whispered, staring into the shadows and hoping, praying, Chica stayed outside.

“The light’s not working ****either****!”

Pinpricks of light appeared as Chica loomed in the doorway, the kid still pressing the disabled switches in panicky confusion.

Cold. So cold. It hurt.

Chica’s gaze shifted, her head turning to look at the little tyke jabbing at buttons obliviously.

Flare of heat. Mike’s body burned with it, an angry rush that flooded through him to match the fucked up ventilation. One day he’ll complain about the need to fix the vents, but right now he was __pissed__.

̡͞S͜͏͏̸̛ţa҉͏y̢̕͝ ͢b̛͠a̶̡͝c҉͘͠k̛̕҉̨!̧͘͞ ̷̨͞͞T̶̛͢͝h̵a͘͢t̴̷͠'̷̷̸͢͠s̕ ̶͞M͘͞i̴̸͏͘k̶e̷͝y͟҉͜͟͠'͞͠s̵̶͞ ̸҉̵̨͟f̧̕r̸̴͠͠i̶̧͢e͜҉̵͠͝n̵̛͘͡͞d̶͝!̷͢

“Get the ****fuck**** out of here, you fucking duck robot!” Mike snarled out, just barely aware that the kid had whipped their head around to stare at him in open shock and horror. “You had your shots at me and you fucked up every one! Get your weak shit outta here!”

Chica shrieked, her malfunctioning voice box producing an ear-splitting scream that had the kid cover their ears and cry out in pain while Mike jerked backwards and hit the wall with a grimace. Still screeching, the yellow animatronic went tearing back down the East Hall, footsteps fading as she fled.

 

****

****5:30 AM** **


	9. 5:30 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down to the last thirty minutes. Mike plays the last of his best patterns to keep the animatronics at bay, but has his luck finally run out? Or could the kid stuck with him be the edge he needs to see 6 AM?

**5:30 AM**

 

“Is she gone?”

The kid had cautiously tapped the now miraculously working light switch to check, but still asked anyway. Like they didn’t trust their own eyes anymore.

“If she’s not there, she’s gone,” Mike grumbled, rubbing his fingers over his own eyes. His head ached. Fresh blood dripped over his scalp, clinging to skin and making his flesh crawl. The heat had faded to a soothing warmth that made him almost drowsy. Almost. “Don’t fuck with the lights. Gotta conserve power.”

Check the cameras.

Foxy half out of Pirate Cove again, staring up at the camera with his jaws open wide.

_-Haw haw haw-_

Mike tensed, alarm flashing across his face as he flicked to the kitchen and heard only the static of the camera. Freddy had moved.

_**Shit.** _

He didn’t get back to Freddy in time. **That’s** probably what Chica was doing; drawing his attention to her so Freddy could move.

Fucking **bird**.

“Wh-what was that?” the kid whispered, ducking to hide behind the back of the office chair and peering around it.

They weren’t _ready_. Mike checked the power. _18%_ , and half an hour to go.

He clicked the camera over to the East Hall corner, in that spot where the light from the door couldn’t reach.

Freddy’s face filled the screen, staring at him with glowing pinprick eyes.

Mike flipped the tablet down. He had stared long enough to pin the fuckboy in place for a while, but things weren’t looking good.

“Mr. Schmidt, I wanna go home,” the kid murmured tearfully, their little body shaking as they rubbed helplessly at their face. “I wanna go home to my mom and dad and-!”

“Doing the best I can, kid, don’t fuck me up,” Mike returned more harshly than he intended, distracted with straining to filter out the carnival tunes for the sounds of Foxy’s humming or Freddy’s music box, or footsteps on tile. _Anything_ that could tell him ahead of time when someone was coming….

His hand went to the light switch on his side of the office, clicking it to be sure it still worked.

Bonnie stared at him with his blackened eyes, mouth open wide.

_‘Shit!’_

He shut the door just in time, face still frozen in an expression of half-shock, half-disbelief. How the hell did Bonnie get to the office without making a sound?!

The kid was sobbing now, kneeling on the chair, wails that covered any other sounds that could have helped him. But if Bonnie could move that silently….

_-Haw hur hur-_

Mike flipped the tablet to check on Freddy.

Still there. His mouth was opened in a way that looked like he was smiling at the camera.

_15%_

 

**5:40 AM**

 

“Kid, you need to be **quiet** so I can hear what the hell’s going on out there,” Mike hissed, glaring at the sobbing figure huddled on the chair.

_“I c-can’t he-help it!”_ the kid wailed, rubbing at their eyes and trembling. “I w-wanna go **h-home**!”

Mike sighed, reining in the urge to yell in frustration. “Kid,” he managed to get out somewhat evenly through clenched teeth, “you’re gonna get us **killed** if you panic.” When they looked up at him in alarm, he tapped his finger on the tablet’s surface. “I’m trying to get us through the night. We’re cutting it damn close. Now are you gonna shut up and do your part?” The kid whimpered but nodded, looking out at the darkness uncertainly.

Ah, that’s right.

“Close the door for a second,” he told the kid, keeping his eyes on the shadows beyond the doorway until the kid pressed the switch. Once the metal barricade was in place, he flipped the tablet over and clicked the cameras again. Freddy was still in that corner, staring up at him through the screen.

Foxy was gearing up for another run. The battered animatronic was frozen mid-stride, blackened eyes locked onto the camera.

“I’m thirsty,” the kid whispered and Mike gave them a tired look as he flipped the tablet to standby.

There was a cold cup of coffee stashed on the office desk that had once been hot, fresh brewed and placed there just before he went on his rounds for the night. Mike hadn’t touched it since then.

He grabbed the cup and held it out to the kid who peered into it and sniffed curiously.

“What is it?”

“Coffee.”

The kid sipped at the drink, wrinkling their nose but without complaint. _'Least there’s no whining about it.’_

“Light, kid. Don’t forget to check the light,” Mike added, reaching up to flick on his own light.

Empty.

“Nothing there, Mr. Schmidt. Are they gonna leave us alone now?” the kid whispered hopefully.

He checked the power. _11%._

“Open the door. I need to keep an eye on it so Fazfuck doesn’t sneak in,” he replied, choosing not to answer the question.

 

**5:50 AM**

 

**__** _-Haw hur hur-_

“Can we call the police?”

Mike looked up from the tablet to give the kid the flattest glare in his arsenal of glares. “And tell them **what**? Buncha fucking robots were trying to murder us for six hours?” he pointed out. “Nobody’ll believe us and I’ll just end up fired or sued or both. …Door.”

_-Haw haw haw-_

“But this is scary and not **right**!” the kid exclaimed, hopping in place in a panic after pressing the switch. “We can call the news!”

“By the time they get here, it’ll be the end of my shift and these assholes lock up and everything looks like nothing happened,” Mike grumbled, sitting back and watching the darkness. “Just keep doing what I say and you’ll get to see daylight again.” He narrowed his gaze, fingers drumming over the back of the tablet. “Close the door; I need to check Foxy again.”

The kid gave him an uncertain look, then reached up to hit the switch and close the door. Mike flipped the tablet to check the camera.

_-Haw hur hur-_

Foxy was on the verge of running, pinprick eye lights glowing in the shadows.

_8%_

Mike flipped the tablet to standby and glanced at the kid. They kept shaking, jumping a little every time Freddy’s laugh boomed through the wall of metal. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” he muttered loud enough for them to hear as he reached up to check his light.

_-Hur hur hur-_

Bonnie loomed there again, one hand outstretched as though about to reach in and grab him.

The kid screamed; Mike slammed the door down, then turned to his tablet as the temperature suddenly dropped to frigid levels. _6%. 5%._

 

**5:54 AM**

 

**__** _-Hur haw haw-_

“No, no, **no** ,” Mike murmured, looking up at the kid in equal alarm and fear. “Light!”

The kid tapped the light.

_4%_

Chica looked in on them, beak pulled open in what passed for a smile on her face.

**“No!”** Mike snapped, trying to dredge up every scrap of outrage he could gather to squash his rising fear. So cold, _so cold_.

_-Hur hur hur-_

“You’re **not** getting in, assholes! Get the hell away from the doors!”

The tablet was pulled from his hand, the kid sobbing as they flipped it to search the cameras. “Foxy, M-Mr. Schmidt! We have to watch Foxy!”

_3%_

The curtains were blown open, the 'Out of Order’ sign knocked over.

_-Hur hur hur-_

_2%_

_Thud-thud-thud-thud!_

Mike’s eyes widened as the sounds drew closer. _“No!”_ The protest came out as little more than a despairing whisper.

_1%_

A heavy thud marked Foxy’s crash into the shut door, jarring Mike away from his resting place and closer to the kid.

_0%_

 

**5:55 AM**

 

The lights flickered and suddenly went out, the power shutting down with a loud hum that faded to silence. Both doors slid up, leaving the office exposed to the animatronics lurking outside. The kid froze in place, clutching the tablet and staring into the distance, a rabbit in the headlights. Mike looked around quickly. Not much time left.

The clock!

The stupid battery-operated clock was still showing the time. Five minutes, could he hold Freddy back for five minutes?

He grabbed the clock and shoved it into their arms, letting them focus on juggling tablet and clock. “Hold this. Keep quiet. Only yell when it’s 6 AM,” Mike hissed and then stuffed the kid under the desk before standing up to face the West Hall door, leaning against the security monitor desk to support himself. The cheap fan was completely off, but the room still felt so freezing cold.

“Mr. Schmidt?”

“Shut up. Don’t move,” Mike growled softly, his good hand clenched into a trembling fist. “When you get out of here… if I don’t make it with you… tell Chris to check the backstage for me. And not to let Doll see. And to sue the fuck outta this place. Got it?” He glanced aside, catching the kid’s shuddering nod on the edge of his vision, a tiny bit of movement in the dim, dim light of the dying emergency power. “Good. I’ll keep them busy as long as I can. Just count the minutes to yourself.”

And with that he put them out of mind, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself and blink away tears. How was he going to hold Freddy at bay? Play dead like the Phone Guy said?

…

Fuck **that**. Didn’t help the bastard before he got jumped; Mike wasn’t gonna count on that advice.

_“Dum deh dum….”_

Step. Step. Step.

“Yeah, just take your sweet time, Freddy, little rat-bitten piece of shit….”

The whispering of numbers being counted became white noise, nothingness to the steps and hums of the animatronic bear.

Cold, cold. Mike stood still, glaring at the shadows beyond the door even as he held himself tightly enough to make his arm and leg hurt even more.

_'Don’t wanna die. I wanna go home, see Doll again, hug her tight, and rest for fucking once.’_

A face appeared at the entrance, lit up from within. The kid yelped and Mike shushed them with a loud hiss, keeping his eyes on Freddy as the tinkling music played.

Warm, warm, he was growing warm. The embrace of hell, maybe? Figures.

He growled, pushing the sound of the kid’s startled gasp aside. “You and me again, Fazfuck. The song and dance change too? Or are you too much of a bitch to come in tonight?” Mike sneered.

The light winked out, the music cut off, and the emergency power faded, plunging the office into pitch black. Complete darkness, save for the tiny glow of light from the clock in the kid’s arms.

_'Shit. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth fucking **shut** for once?’_

There was a shuffle of feet on floor. Mike cringed, bracing himself.

…

Nothing.

…

…

_“SCREEEE!”_

“Gah!” The wind was knocked out of him as Freddy’s bulk rushed forward to grab Mike in a bear hug. He thrashed in place, screaming in pain and fury as his injured arm was pinned in the hug, his good one free enough to pound on the bear’s limbs in desperation. “Let me **go**! I survived every night in this fucked up place! You’re **not** winning tonight either! Let **go** of me!”

_“The s-suit….”_ Freddy rumbled, turning in place to walk stiffly out the office.

“ **No!** You **can’t** take me there again! It’s almost six! Shut off! SHUT OFF!” The fear was growing higher, hot and cold clashing over his skin, through his body. Mike kicked at the air, gasping in panicked bursts. He was off the floor! He couldn’t drag the time by digging in his heels, his fingers! “Shut off! _Please!_ Six! Roll over! **Roll over!** ”

His back was slammed against a wall, Freddy’s hand holding him suspended by a numbing grip on his injured shoulder, sending another rush of agony through him before it was deadened by the fear, panic setting in alongside the rage. Mike brought up his good leg, planting his foot against Freddy’s chest to hold him back without damage.

_'Can’t damage them! Not a scratch, not a dent! But I want to live, god dammit!’_

He grabbed at the hand pinning him in place, pulling at large fingers in an attempt to pry himself loose without cracking joints in either himself or the animatronic bear.

It was stupid, so **stupid** , to worry over not damaging the things trying to kill him. But he couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not with what he had on the line.

“ _Get off me!_ Let **go** , ya piece of scrap! Shitty bear! Fazfuck!” He snapped out whatever came to mind, trying to stall, buying time, risking it all to keep himself away from the backstage.

And then Freddy grabbed his splinted leg and squeezed.

Mike howled, an ear-piercing shriek that filled the hallway. His every move halted, paralyzed by the pain, and then he fell limp against the wall, panting weakly.

His vision was tunneling, growing hazy. _'No….’_ The shape of the kid stepping out of the office with the clock passed into his shrinking field of vision. He gestured vaguely with one hand, motioning it towards them as Freddy draped him over one arm and began turning away. _'Go back… please….’_

The shape followed him, Bonnie and Chica’s figures appearing behind them.

_’S-sorry… Doll… love you… ’m sorry….’_

Darkness sank in.

 

**5:57 AM**

 

The kid kept walking, terrified but unable to stop. “Three minutes,” they whispered, hugging the clock and tablet close. They had watched, sniffling, trying to smother sobs with counting to ten and repeating, as Freddy lunged into the office and grabbed Mr. Schmidt. Barely seen figures in the dark, one struggling to get free of the other, both glaring at each other with pinprick eyes of glowing white against utter black. Like they were both monsters of the scariest kinds.

The sounds of them moving around and bumping into things had the child scoot further back into their hiding spot under the desk. The chair was knocked over with a crash, the fan kicked off and flung into the wall, papers rustling and scattering. And Mr. Schmidt kept yelling, screaming in an angry, scary voice that wasn’t like him at all.

Then Freddy got him out of the room and the kid heard a slam, more papers falling, Mr. Schmidt gasping like he’d been hurt.

“Please, Freddy, **stop**! Don’t hurt him anymore!” The child begged quietly, losing count and forgetting they were supposed to be silent.

The begging hadn’t helped anyway. They crawled out to try and see what was happening and froze in horror as the night watch screamed again, loud and painful and sounding like he was about to cry too. And in the little bit of light the clock gave off, they saw Mr. Schmidt flop over Freddy’s arm, tired, teary, and looking so sad. His eyes stopped being scary, and the kid looked up at him, hoping for a miracle. But Mr. Schmidt just gave him a little wave, mouth moving a little as he cried, then he closed his eyes and stopped moving at all.

The child hoped that didn’t mean the worst.

Freddy walked down the hallway, slow and stiff, carrying Mr. Schmidt with one arm. The night watch was almost as tall as Freddy; in the clock’s glow, the kid could see Mr. Schmidt’s shoes drag over the floor. That couldn’t be good for the broken leg.

Other steps sounded in the dark. The child looked around and nearly cried out at seeing Bonnie and Chica walking along behind them, following Freddy and Mr. Schmidt. They didn’t seem to notice one extra person tagging along.

 

**5:58 AM**

 

“Two minutes. _Wake up_ , Mr. Schmidt, _please_!”

The child wanted to cry, sniffling in fear as the frightening parade of killer robots kept walking. The night watch still didn’t move, just kept sleeping.

Where were they going? What was gonna happen now?

They came out of the hall and into the dining room with all the rows of tables and party hats neatly lined up. Freddy turned and walked around the outer part of the room, skipping all the tables. Why? The kid gave the tables a puzzled look but hurried to keep up. Well, this way took longer, so that was good.

Mr. Schmidt’s shoes made little scuffling sounds as they were dragged along. The kid sniffled again, thinking back to earlier, when he pulled the night guard into that very room to get him away from Bonnie. Had that all really happened in just one night?

They passed by Pirate Cove. The kid tensed at seeing Foxy slowly poke his nose out, eyes gleaming as he watched the parade go by. But Foxy only whined softly, sadly, following Freddy and Mr. Schmidt with his head. Then he pulled back behind the curtains.

They kept walking.

 

**5:59 AM**

 

“One minute, Mr. Schmidt! _Please!_ You **gotta** wake up! It’s almost six!”

They were getting desperate, panicking, crying out loudly now. Because they were _so, so_ close to the end, and Freddy was taking them into the room behind the stage, and there was a big yellowish Freddy suit propped against the wall, unzipped and wide open and empty.

Or not so empty. The clock light made the suit look greenish, and it showed thin metal bars and lots of wires all pressed into the suit, like someone had crushed them flat-like to make space.

“Golden Freddy!” the kid yelled, wailing as tears rushed out in their terror. “Wake up! _It’s **Golden Freddy**!_”

And Mr. Schmidt finally moved.

He groaned a little, then growled softly, growing louder as Freddy pushed him into the suit. Bonnie and Chica stepped up to help, twisting and bending metal down to strap in his arms, his legs.

“Forty-five seconds! Hurry! Mr. Schmidt, you gotta **do** something!” the child screamed, hugging the electronics tight.

They saw his body jerk, like he finally figured out what was happening, then his eyes snapped open, gleaming black and scary with the glowing white that made the kid think of how Bonnie looked, how Chica looked, how all the robots looked.

He took a deep breath, then yelled at Freddy and the others.

_“SCCRRREEEEEEEE!”_

The kid dropped the tablet and clock to cover their ears, staring with wide eyes at the night guard. That scream! Mr. Schmidt had the same scary scream too?!

The time kept going, even as the robots pulled back, away from Mr. Schmidt, ears pulled back and beak open in startled expressions.

“Th-thirty seconds!”

They shook in place, too scared to move. The tablet screen flickered, tiny flashes of light like it was trying to turn on. The robots stayed still for a while, staring at Mr. Schmidt like they didn’t know if they should keep coming or stay back.

**Twenty seconds.**

Freddy came forward at last, holding up a face part for the suit. It was the same sickly yellow-green, the insides a spiderweb of metal bits and bars. If **that** was put on the night guard’s face-!

“Mr. Schmidt! Do that scream again! Hurry! Time’s almost up! Fifteen seconds!”

He was panting, trying to catch his breath. In the glow of the clock, the kid could see him jerking one arm, then a leg, trying to get free. He kept glaring at Freddy, growling, but he looked tired still. Like he used up everything in that one scream. No power, like the office. Like the tablet.

Ten seconds to go and Freddy was almost to Mr. Schmidt with the Golden Freddy face. He kept walking slow, staring at the night guard like he was afraid too. Was Freddy scared of Mr. Schmidt?

The tablet blinked, catching the kid’s attention. White words scrawled out in light over the dark screen in childish handwriting.

**Nine seconds.**

**__** _Ple̴as͞e̕.̸ ̨H͠el͝p. ̛M͡i̵k̨ey̧._

**Eight seconds.**

The standby light came on, and the kid picked up the tablet in surprise. How did it get power back?

**Seven seconds.**

Mr. Schmidt was gasping again, panicky and quick.

**Six seconds.**

Freddy lifted the face.

**Five seconds.**

The kid darted forward, scrambling to climb up the Golden Freddy without dropping the tablet.

**Four.**

It worked on Bonnie, right?

**Three.**

Mr. Schmidt took one last deep breath, the bear face less than a foot away.

**Two.**

The kid sat on Golden Freddy’s shoulders and held the tablet up, flipping it out of standby.

**One.**

Blinding light flashed over the backstage room.

_“SCRRREEEEEEE!”_

 

**6:00 AM**

**__** _(Yaaaaay!)_


	10. 6:00 AM

**6:00 AM**

(Or some time after…)

 

Mike stirred, feeling a deep soreness all over his body that he was pretty sure wasn’t Doll’s doing. He groaned and tried lifting a hand to rub his head, only to yelp at the stab of pain that shot over his shoulder. A hand immediately came down on his chest, splayed open and firmly pressing down to keep him still.

“Don’t move. You’re pretty banged up,” the voice of the janitor, Chris, told him dryly. “What the hell did you do, you fuckin’ furry?”

“Ah, shit. How the hell did **you** get in?” Mike grumbled, cracking open his eyes to scowl at the wry look on his coworker’s face.

“Your lil buddy took your keys to let me in when I started banging on the doors,” Chris replied before taking on a more concerned look. “Mike, what the hell is a kid _doing_ here? They were crying like crazy, said you almost **died**. They brought me here, and you were out cold, strapped into that old holiday Freddy suit with the animatronics standing around.” He held up a bent screwdriver and some broken metal in his hands. “I had to break some of the mesh and suit supports to get you out, and then you went and collapsed on me! What the hell _happened_?!” he exclaimed.

Mike didn’t answer, just sighed in exasperation. “Did you clock me out?” he asked instead. Chris glared, a narrowing of eyes on his feminine looking face making the expression that much sharper as he flung down the metal.

“Your leg’s broken and your shoulder’s popped apart, and you’re worried about your **hours**? You need to get your priorities straight,” he whispered harshly and pointed to someplace Mike couldn’t see. “There are cops in the dining room talking to that kid and their mom; she’s all ‘My **kid** got **ditched** on a field trip at a pizzeria while it was **being** **robbed** and the **only** uniformed officer who did **anything** was the **rent-a-cop** who nearly got **killed**!’, and the kid’s gushing like you’re some kinda superhero.” Chris waved his arms around and rolled his eyes. “What lame ass superhero gets stuck in a bear suit like he wasn’t even worth using rope to tie him up?”

“Hey, least we weren’t robbed,” Mike muttered, going along with the story. He wondered how much of his paycheck was going to get cut for the damages, how the police were going to handle make-believe robbers, and what that kid was _thinking_ in saying all that. Then he let it all slide. The ventilation was fucking up again, but he didn’t mind; the heat was soothing, making him feel drowsy again, less pained. “So am I getting shipped to the hospital again or are you gonna sweep me out like the rest of the crappy pizza?”

“I _oughta_ leave your ass there to think about what you did, but the kid and mom are guilt tripping the cops so I called your girlfriend to come get you,” the janitor told him, holding up Mike’s phone and giving it a little shake. “Head’s up; she sounded pissed you were hurt.”

“Wha-? Ah, fuck me sideways….” Mike groaned in dismay. Doll, for all her sweetness and beautiful kindness, had a mean left hook and flurry of slaps she wielded whenever she was crossed. Him getting injured was top of the list that could do that. Mike tested his limbs in hopes of being able to get up and run. That hurt, _that_ hurt, and **that** hurt. He flinched at Chris flicking his fingers against his cheek.

“When I say 'don’t move’, fucking **don’t** move. You’re not _that_ stupid.” Chris sat on the floor beside him, looking around at the animatronics frozen in place. “Free roaming mode is a bitch. You know how hard it is to put these guys back on stage? And I gotta wait for the rest of the movers to show up for it. Meanwhile, your happy ass is gonna be stuck at home in recovery.”

“Or, Doll’s gonna kill me for this,” Mike sighed, closing his eyes again. At least he was able to see her again. That had been a close one. “Well, compared to getting stuffed in a suit, it’s not that bad of a way to go.”

The rapid steps of someone running towards the backstage caught his attention. “Mikey!”

Mike turned his head, cracking a grin at the sight of his girlfriend rushing up to him. “Oh, hey, Doll. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I got your message!” Maybe if he tried being sweet, she won’t worry as much?

“Is what they’re saying out there **true**?! _Mikey!_ You almost got **killed** protecting that child from robbers! A missed call is nothing! I almost **lost** you!” Doll exclaimed in a half-sob, dropping to her knees beside him and practically flinging herself onto him in a hug. Mike grunted softly, wincing as his shoulder was jarred, and she immediately sat back up, hands over her mouth and eyes wide. “Oh! I’m so sorry! Oh, Mikey, how bad is it?” she gasped.

Mike managed another small grin, trying to keep a smile on even as he hoped for that trip to the hospital soon; everything was starting to hurt again and he was tapped out on anything that could numb him. Just as he began letting her know it wasn’t that bad, the kid was running up to him with a big smile on their face.

“Mr. Schmidt! Thank you for keeping your promise!” they exclaimed and hugged him as well, carefully avoiding the injured shoulder. “You said you’d get me back to my mom at 6 AM and you did it! Now you can see a doctor to fix you up!”

He wasn’t sure what to do next, so he just patted the kid on the back, looking up at Doll’s teary smile at him. “Uh, yeah, kid. Just glad we got through the night in one piece,” Mike replied, squinting as the kid pulled back. He couldn’t quite recall all that had happened, too much of a blur and his head hurt thinking about it. He remembered waking up yelling at Freddy, but it was hazy, like trying to remember a movie he’d seen while a baby. Shapes moving, and then a flash of light as he screamed again, full of terror and rage.

Light?

“Did you use my tablet at some point?” Mike asked the kid suspiciously. They nodded eagerly.

“Yeah! There was just baaaaarely enough power put back to make the light work,” they replied and held up two round pieces of red glass. “And then I got a present! Freddy’s Pizza after dark is scary, but with friends it’s exciting and awesome!”

Mike stared at them, dumbfounded, until the kid’s mom called them away and he was left still staring after them as the kid waved goodbye and hurried off. “Okay, I think that kid needs a trip to the hospital more than me,” he declared to Doll, who just giggled and rubbed her tears away.

“They’re just happy you saved them. You’re a hero, Mikey!” she told him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I knew people would see the good in you that I see if you gave them the chance,” she whispered and winked. Mike felt his cheeks heat up, a dopey smile spreading across his face. “Now let’s get you to the hospital, Mr. Hero. Your arm can’t be feeling that good hanging like that!”

 

——-

 

He was out of work for a full week. Mike hated it. That was lost wages, money for the ring he had his eyes on. At least he had the clearance to go back to work after that week. The doc gave him a crutch and a sling; amazing how it didn’t take him long to get in the rhythm of hitting switches at a distance with the crutch.

Once she was certain he wasn’t going to break, Doll had scolded him, slapped him silly for making her panic, then kissed him better and nursed him back to health in her own way. Mike was pink-cheeked for days after, Chris rolling his eyes at the look.

He still had a long way to go to fully heal, but he was getting along pretty quick. His shoulder felt a little stiff sometimes but nothing he couldn’t get over with some heating pads and a massage from his dear Doll. And to be honest, some time away from Fuckboy and his friends was actually relaxing, as long as he didn’t think about the loss of hours.

Which was why he didn’t really think anything about Doll’s idea to take him out for a celebration meal until it turned out it was being held at Freddy’s Pizzeria.

Mike’s eye twitched as soon as he registered himself sitting in one of the plastic chairs, a plate of salad in front of him since she knew he didn’t much care for pizza. “Doll, babe, why?” he managed to whimper, shooting the performing animatronics a distrustful glare.

“I thought it’d be cute to have a little party for the hero of the hour!” Doll giggled, gently bumping his shoulder with hers. “I came by to let your boss know you’d be out for a while to recover about a week ago, and that little kid you protected was also here asking for you!”

“Oh?” Why? Mike poked at his salad with a thoughtful frown. What was the point of that? He said he’d get them through the night, and he did, so it was all over. Right?

“Yep! So I told them to come to the party!” Doll remarked, looking over to the entrance of the dining room and waving. “Over heeeere~!”

There was the kid, running up to them with a wide smile and a strange pair of glasses perched on their head. Mike raised an eyebrow. Did the kid have glasses that night? He was pretty sure they didn’t.

They took a seat across from Doll and Mike, greeting her cheerfully as they settled the hipster-tinted glasses onto their nose. “Hi, Mr. Schmidt!” they exclaimed, “Hi!”

“Uh, hey,” Mike offered a weak wave, unsure of what to do. The kid smiled wider, laughing a little.

“Are you feeling better now?” they asked as Doll served out a slice of pizza on an extra plate. Mike offered a small shrug, wincing just a bit. “Oh. Well, I guess it takes longer to heal that stuff than it does to heal, like, a cut or a bruise.” The kid fiddled with the glasses, their eyes sliding over to look past him every now and then before flicking back to him with a smile. “But you’ll still be the night guard here, right?” they asked hopefully.

“Not like I can get any job I want. This is pretty much it for me,” Mike returned dryly and tilted his head. “Why ask?” Now the kid was the one to shrug.

“I thought I’d be too scared to come back to Freddy’s 'cuz of what happened. Mom didn’t want to bring me anymore either,” they replied shyly, fiddling with their fingers now. “But then I thought about all the stuff you did to keep me safe, and I thought…. I thought, 'if Mr. Schmidt is here, then I’ll be okay’. Because that’s what you told me.” They looked up at him again, shaky smile on their face. “You said I’d be okay, and you were right.”

Doll made a suspiciously adorable noise next to him that would have made Mike turn and shower her in kisses and other things if not for the fact they were in public. So he just blushed horribly, feeling his face heat up at the _'Awwww’_ whispered to him by his girlfriend. “O-oh.” Mike poked at his salad again. “So, you’re not scared of this hellhole?”

The kid laughed as Doll gave a little gasp and punched him lightly in the shoulder, scolding him for swearing around children. “Nah! You’re _way_ scarier than Freddy and the rest, so I don’t have to worry! I can come and eat pizza and play games and know that everything’s behaving 'cuz of you!” they exclaimed and lifted the plate of pizza. “Hooray for the night watch!”

“Hooray for Mikey!” Doll echoed in her own cheer, then pressed a kiss to Mike’s temple with a smile and giggle. “You’re so sweet!”

He laughed a little in return, tugging his beanie back into place before picking up a forkful of salad.

“So does this mean you’ll finally let me sneak in and spend a night at Freddy’s with you?”

Mike nearly choked on a lettuce leaf, “ _Hurk!_ **NO!** ”

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps up the first entry for the Parlourverse AU. Hope you enjoyed! This was the only entry for the FNAF 1 Arc.

**Author's Note:**

> As suggested by followers of the Parlour blog, my fics will be migrating here as well, for easier reading and in case the hellsite is actually blown up one day.
> 
> Originally posted to tumblr: Sept. 24, 2014
> 
> For seeing the Parlour blog, visit: [here](https://fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction.tumblr.com).


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